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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322088">A Merry Christmas Eve</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EconHomework/pseuds/EconHomework'>EconHomework</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Beatles Holiday Fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Children, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Snow, good parenting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:02:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,188</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EconHomework/pseuds/EconHomework</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Paul drive up to Friar Park on Christmas Eve, with Julian and Heather in tow. Christmas fluff ensues.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Beatles Holiday Fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076249</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Merry Christmas Eve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Definitely some fun AU vibes going on. Probably set in 1970ish, but the ages of Julian and Heather aren't accurate, so take that aspect with a grain of salt, too.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had actually snowed that year. Quite a lot, all things considered. Enough for a truly white Christmas and a rather slushy drive up from St. George’s Hill. The passing scenery, much different from the moderately suburban views near Kenwood and coated in white to boot, kept Julian entertained for the nearly hour-long drive. Every few minutes he had to wipe his sleeve against the glass, removing the fog from his breath and renewing his view of the iceworld outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your nose is gonna freeze off if you’re not careful, Jules,” John chided with a grin, turning round to see Julian straining against his seatbelt, face smushed against the chilled glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or it’ll turn all red like Rudolph’s,” Paul teased, watching Julian’s actions in the rearview mirror. “When Santa comes, he might try to take you back to the North Pole.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we see Santa tonight?” Julian eagerly pulled away from the window, face full of excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, baby,” Paul assured. “But you might be asleep when he comes by!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Julian said with a sigh. He looked down at his boots and swung them back and forth above the floor of the car. They had originally been bright yellow, but the past few months had made them a bit dingier. He liked them anyway, though. And soon Heather, sleeping in her car seat next to him, would have a pair, too. Julian had picked out a pair for her birthday. It was only a week away, just after Christmas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, we can still leave cookies out for him. The ones you and Daddy baked yesterday, remember?” Paul reminded, hoping to cheer Julian up and avoid a mid-afternoon slump before they’d even arrived in Henley-On-Thames. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And carrots for the reindeer?” Julian met his father’s eyes in the mirror with a deep sincerity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And for you, Rudolph.” John added, gently bopping Julian’s nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m not a reindeer! There are nine of them and if I were one I’d be late!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s that, baby?” John asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well Dada was telling me how Santa can do all the presents in one night is because of different times. So the people who live way far away from here have already got their gifts and are gonna wake up soon,” Julian explained earnestly. “Right, Dada?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Paul affirmed, beaming with pride. “You would be one late reindeer, wouldn’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! But I’m not a reindeer. I’m just a person.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See any reindeer out there, Jules?” John asked. “We’re almost there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian quickly resumed his careful observation of the passing countryside. In spring and summer, the view would be obscured by leafy trees and thick hedges, but leaves fell with the winter cold, and fields could be seen from the window. Occasionally, when the car passed a farmhouse or barn, a herd of cows or sheep, their breath making fog in the chilly air, was visible. Julian excitedly reported each sighting, and Paul routinely slowed so Julian could carefully count every member of the group. Sometimes his final number was more of a guess than a clear finding, but his skill with numbers was still impressive for a three-year-old. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are there gonna be sheep at the farm after Christmas?” He asked as Paul returned to normal speed after letting Julian count a flock of exceedingly fat sheep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup, they’re all gonna be there waiting for us, baby,” Paul replied. “And the horses. You can count them, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Dada, won’t they be cold?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, they have their wool and they’re all cuddled up in the barn together. They’ll be just as warm as you are in your bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the horses?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The horses have blankets, remember?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have special blankets just for them. There’s a hole for their head, like a jumper.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satisfied, Julian returned to the window, but instead of pastures, he was met with houses and sidewalks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Recognize where we are, Jules?” John asked as Paul turned the car into a driveway and stopped before a large green metal gate. Julian wasn’t old enough to really</span>
  <em>
    <span> remember</span>
  </em>
  <span> things like this very well, and he likely wouldn’t have memories of this age by the time he was about six, but he could remember some places alright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not at the farm, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s after Christmas, baby. Look out your window,” Paul prompted. He rolled down the driver’s side window and leaned to enter the gate code. A few moments later, they were driving through the gate, down a drive lined with snow laden trees. It looked straight out of a children’s book, and the sight was enough to make Paul and John go silent in wonder. They’d never see Friar Park in the snow. It was magical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, as the car came around the last bend, Julian’s eyes lit up with recognition. “We’re at The Park!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! You excited to see Uncle George and Uncle Ringo?” Paul smiled at his son’s enthusiasm and choice of words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Julian was bouncing on the seat. He vigorously wiped the steam away from the glass and gazed up at the Victorian Neo-gothic mansion. Snow lay on the slanted roofs and turrets and eves and covered most of the brick parking area. The inset entryway was lined with evergreen boughs and illuminated by electric lanterns. A statue of a gnome, mostly covered in snow, stood in greeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s gonna need a nap before dinner if he keeps this up,” John chuckled as Paul parked just to the left of the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll probably sleep all the way back, too,” Paul noted. “With any luck he won’t wake up when we put him to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Touch wood.” John grinned. “Ready for some serious Christmas cheer ?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready, Johnny.” Paul leaned toward the passenger seat and John met him in the middle for a brief kiss. They parted with a shared look that promised something more that evening, but quickly returned to the joy of the present. “Wait a moment baby, Daddy will unbuckle you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian was fidgeting with his seat belt, intent on escaping into the winter wonderland outside. At Paul’s gentle command, however, he sat back patiently, waiting for John to get out of the passenger seat and open the back door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are the presents in the back, love?” Paul asked, slipping out from behind the wheel and turning to the boot of the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll get them, though, Paulie. Can you manage Heather?” John called from inside the car as he waged war on Julian’s buckle. “Wanna carry some presents, Jules?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! I wanna carry the ones I made for Uncle Gorge and Uncle Ring-oh!” Julian kicked his feet excitedly, almost hitting John in the process. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful, baby!” Paul stifled his laugh as he opened the back door by Heather’s car seat. Julian was an avid talker. Surrounded by music since his first moments, he’d been babbling since five months and speaking actual words since eight months. His pronunciation skills required a bit of work, though, especially with G combinations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes of unbuckling and unloading of both children and gifts, they headed toward the front steps. John bore several brightly wrapped parcels and a basket of various hors devours while Paul held Heather in his arms. She was nearly two, and had been chasing after Julian since before age one, but nonetheless engaged in frequent naps. Julian kicked ahead through the small layer of snow, red knit cap bouncing and his mittened hands swinging two Christmas-coloured bags. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul might have been worried at the exuberant testing of centripetal force, but the bags only contained Julian’s gifts for Ringo and George: flat wooden ornaments carved to look like a guitar and a snare drum. Paul had cut them out and then let John supervise as Julian painted them with technicolor hues. Heather’s “gifts” to her uncles were a bit easier on the eyes. Paul had made two candles in empty preserve jars and John had fashioned labels for them with her little handprint done in ink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dada? Can I knock?” Julian asked shyly when they reached the rather imposing oak door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if you can reach the knocker, Jules,” Paul observed. “Want me to pick you up so you can get it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, ready?” Paul stooped down to Julian’s level, still holding Heather with his left arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian nodded seriously and then climbed carefully into Paul’s right arm. Paul scooped him up, taking care not to dislodge the hat. “Up Dada, up!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright baby, pick up the knocker,” Paul prompted, turning so Julian was within reach of the brass knocker. Julian transferred his gift bags to one hand, then tentatively picked up the hinge. He looked back at Paul and John for reassurance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay, Jules,” John encouraged him. “Just let it hit the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian let go of the ring and it fell against the metal plate. A loud knock echoed through the halls on the other side. Everything seemed empty for a moment, and John could see Julian’s eyes growing nervous. He was a vibrant, cheerful child at home, but he became anxious somewhat easily, which caused him to shrink in on himself. Paul’s successful revival of Julian’s mood in the car had become a well-crafted skill for both parents. John glanced from the door to Julian, and then back to the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna try making a christmas carol?” John asked, grinning. Julian looked doubtful. “Here, put your hand back on the ring.” John set down the hors devours basket and reached for the knocker himself. After a pause, Julian wrapped his mitten around it, too. “There we go, baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul watched as John gently led Julian through a small rendition of “Jingle Bells” on the door. John’s face practically glowed as Julian took over the rhythm on his own, and Paul felt a rush of warmth to his chest. His two beautiful boys, here with him on Christmas, sharing in their love of music. Daughter in his arms and friends as close to them as brothers somewhere beyond the door. His heart felt full to bursting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Footsteps soon sounded on the other side of the door, and a moment later it swung open, revealing a very festive-looking Ringo. A Santa cap was affixed atop his head and a red jean jacket contrasted with a smart grey turtleneck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, who’s been drumming on the door?” His voice, laid back as ever, was nonetheless deep. Julian quickly turned and buried his head in Paul’s shoulder. John gave Ringo a meaningful look, and the latter cleared his throat. “Sounded right good. Keep that up, and you’ll be replacing me before you know it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still embarrassed, Julian kept himself pressed to Paul’s chest, but found the courage to turn his head and meet Ringo’s eyes. They were just as calm as his voice, but not as intimidating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are!” Ringo beamed. “You gonna be our little drummer boy for Christmas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian looked at John, not quite sure what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think, Jules?” John stepped forward to take Julian from his husband’s aching arm. Paul mouthed a quick ‘thank you’ as he handed him off. “Wanna be a drummer like Uncle Ringo?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna play guitars like you, Daddy,” Julian confided quietly. “Or play the piano like Dada.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my boy.” John kissed Julian’s cheek. “We’ll let Uncle Ringo think his drumming is good though, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is good,” Julian insisted, never wanting to offend anyone. “I just wanna be like you and Dada.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess my job is safe for the next few years, at least!” Ringo chuckled. “Until that little one gets her hands going, anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At this rate she might be more of a sprinter than a musician,” Paul laughed. “She’s got Johnny and I on the run quite a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it’ll keep you fit, not that either of you need it,” Ringo scowled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, give off, Rings.” John rolled his eyes. “So, is the Lord of the manor home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s somewhere in the kitchen, I think. He’d scold me for being a bad host and keeping you on the steps. Can I help with anything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe the basket,” Paul said, then glanced at John. “You good, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeh, gifts and child,” John playfully jostled Julian with one arm and shook the parcels with the other. “I’m right as rain.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, well come in then, good sirs!” Ringo ushered them in, stooping to grab the hor devours basket before he closed the door. “Welcome to our humble home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The small party made their way into the front hall, following Ringo to the adjoining coat room. Julian looked around with an expression akin to reverence. The vaulted wooden ceilings with ornately carved arches and crown molding, the floor with its polished woodwork, the gilt-framed paintings on the walls. He’d been here before countless times, but Friar Park continued to be awe-inspiring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love, will you help Jules for a moment? I need to get my boots off.” John placed Julian down on the floor and then began the extraction of his own feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, let’s get your coat off so we can see your Christmas sweater, yeah?” Paul kneeled down, keeping a still-sleeping Heather against his chest. He was lucky she slept so well, but at this rate she would wake up once it was time for bed. At least their presents for tomorrow morning were already wrapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I keep my hat on?” Julian asked as Paul began to unzip the small overcoat with his free hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely.” Paul pulled the knit cap down over Julian’s ears, much to the child’s delight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the background, John struggled with his boots, attempting to remove them without kicking a dent in the wall. Ringo looked moderately amused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help with anything?” He asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ready, Jules?” Paul looked up from Julian’s boots, which were being removed with more success than John seemed to be having with his. “Do you want to take your gifts and go with Uncle Ringo so you can put them under the tree?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian nodded carefully. “You’ll come, too, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be right behind you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the confirmation of his parents’ plan of action, Julian walked with Ringo out of the coat room and down the main hall to the inner rooms of the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright there, love?” Paul was beginning to remove Heather’s coat, but John’s plight seemed a bit more urgent. The right boot was lying on the ground, but the left one remained stubbornly on his foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you can manage it.” John grimaced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul handed over Heather, who was beginning to stir, and then set to work on John’s boot. After a momentary struggle and an almost curse from Paul, the boot relinquished its claim on John’s foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally,” Paul sighed, pushing himself off the floor. “Need to get you a new pair for Scotland, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ve had a good run.” John pushed them under the wall bench and straightened up. “Ready to find that cheer I promised you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready.” Paul affirmed. He finished taking Heather’s coat off and tucked her shoes next to Julian’s. He started for the door, but John caught him by the arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” John spoke softly. “I love you so much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too, Johnny,” Paul murmured. He leaned his forehead against John’s. “I must be just about the luckiest man on Christmas this year. Here with my beautiful husband and wonderful children. I can hardly believe it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only thing that could make it better would be if I could really marry you.” John smiled sheepishly. “Love, I promise one day we’re gonna celebrate Christmas with a real legal certificate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and then burn it out of protest,” Paul chuckled. “But I know what you mean. I’d love for Heather and Jules to have a world where we aren’t, y’know, illegal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paris will have to do, I guess. Been more than four years, now, y’know. And nine since the beginning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodness, I love you. Both of you.” Paul wrapped his arms around John and cradled Heather between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we love you, too, Macca. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” John grinned down at Heather, who was fully awake at this point. She didn’t quite understand, but she reached up for Paul’s ear and tugged on it gently. “Better your ear than my glasses,” John noted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul replied with a gentle yet meaningful kiss. John responded easily. There wasn’t a greed behind it, just a strong sense of love. They parted with a breath and a smile, each kissing the crown of Heather’s head. John set her down and picked up the presents as replacement. He and Paul followed her confident steps down the hall, redirecting her whenever there was a corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sounds of music and the gleam of colored lights on the polished floors guided them to the main parlor. A tall, full tree stood in one corner, with a gently crackling fireplace complementing the glow of electric lights. Bowed picture windows framed the snowy scene outside, revealing that a few flakes had started to fall again. Julian was perched on the window seat, watching and listening intently as George strummed out “Jingle Bells” on the ukulele. Ringo walked in from a side doorway, laden with the hor devours tray. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s mistletoe above you,” Ringo observed with a very Paul-esque wink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Took care of that in the coat room,” John smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheeky,” Paul muttered. He moved further into the room, keeping an eye on Heather, who made a move for the snacks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t seen you and George go at it,” John commented lazily, leaning against the mantle piece. His remark earned him a look from Paul, who gestured to the young and impressionable audience in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s take care of that, then! Jules, can I borrow Uncle Geo for a moment?” Ringo asked as he set down the try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you come back?” Julian looked up at George with his curious brown eyes, so like John’s own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” George assured him. “Here, you have a go at it.” George handed off the ukulele to Julian and then crossed the room to where Ringo now stood, directly under the mistletoe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever the romantic, George unexpectedly grabbed Ringo and twirled him in a circle before sweeping him off his feet and hosting him into the air. In another swift motion, Ringo was back on the ground as George dipped them toward the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Ritchie,” he grinned and captured Ringo’s lips in a tender and mischievous kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The festive tradition concluded, Ringo straightened his jacket, a shade not dissimilar to the current flush of his cheeks. George looked entirely pleased with himself, especially thanks to the approving laughs from John and Paul. Julian looked up, confused, and Heather continued her sampling of the crackers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul hummed as he joined John by the mantle. His earlier sentiment to John, about being the luckiest man on Christmas, seemed truer by the minute. The love of his life, their children, and two close friends in a house of Christmas cheer. A merry Christmas Eve indeed.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Leave a kudos or give a holler if ya liked it, and Happy Holidays to all!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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